The Morgan Sanction
by Obsidian3
Summary: Murders, demons, and Fallen angels... That'll teach me to complain about not being challenged.
1. Chapter 1

Legal-Type Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own The Hollows. (Are you surprised by this?) I do own the OCs, though.

Author's Note: This is going to be even more AU then my other Hollows story, picking up shortly after the events of Dead Witch Walking.

Did I mention it was an AU?

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. - Albert Einstein 

* * *

This was so incredibly not fair.

It wasn't that I was upset that Ivy had gone on a run without me. It wasn't that she'd brought Jenks with her for backup. It wasn't even that I was sitting home, alone, on a Friday night - although that was hardly helping.

It had been almost a week since I'd had a client, and that had hardly been any kind of challenge. I mean, finding a ten-year-old warlock's lost kitten? Sure, it turned out that it had been taken by a Were to be an after dinner snack, but when I'd confronted him about it, he'd been shocked to learn the kitten was owned by a scared little girl, and had just _given it back to me_, completely unharmed. It wasn't that I minded an easy paycheck - and the girl's family _had _paid me, even though I wasn't entirely convinced they'd known their daughter had hired me until after partway through my first visit - and I'm willing to admit, her overjoyed reaction to her pet's safe return probably would have made the whole thing worth it on its own.

But I wanted a _challenge_, damn it. That was part of the reason I'd left the I.S. in the first place. And now Ivy and Jenks were out having fun - I mean, on a quite possibly dangerous run - without me.

All right, so maybe it bugged me a little.

I didn't begrudge Ivy the work, of course. I mean, I did like her, after all. I wouldn't have kept living with her if I didn't, once the I.S. death threat had been called off, and Trent had been successfully been blackmailed into leaving me the hell alone.

Hmm? Oh, Trent would be Trent Kalamack. Or, if you prefer, _Councilman _Trent Kalamack. Personally, I thought of him as the Brimstone-dealing, biodrug-producing, murderous son of a bitch who'd kept me prisoner for three days, then entered me in the underground rat fights. (I'd transformed myself into a mink to infiltrate his property and find something on him big enough to bring him down, so that I could pay off the I.S. to withdraw the aforementioned death threat. Don't give me that look, it was a perfectly reasonable plan. Even Ivy thought so. Eventually.) I couldn't classify him much beyond that, since I had no idea what he was. Even Jenks didn't know, which was unusual, since pixies were so good at telling who was a member of what species. But not Trent. Nobody had any idea what _he _was.

As for why I might have moved out once I was safe? Well. If you've ever lived with a vampire, or even just spent a lot of time around one, I don't think I need to explain. If you haven't, well, you don't know what you're missing. And I don't mean that in a good way.

Entirely.

Ivy Tamwood was, all things considered, an amazing woman. She was one of the best runners I'd ever seen - which could, at times, make me a little insecure about my own skill level... not that I was bad, but there's good, and then there's Ivy - she was beautiful - which could _also _make me feel insecure - smart, organized (to an almost absurd degree, really), rich (well, sort of... Don't ask, okay?), talented at... well, I had never really tried to keep track, even during the year we'd worked together at the I.S.

She was also a living vampire who'd sworn off practicing. In the abstract, that meant that she refused to drink blood. Living vampires, unlike the undead, didn't actually _need _to do so, but they still had the thirst. Ivy had restrained herself for three years, now, which was simply amazing.

In practical terms, at least for me, this meant that she could often be tense or irritable, pulled an aura sometimes without even meaning to, and couldn't always control herself when something set her instincts off.

And I seemed to have a previously uncharted, MENSA-level of skill in accidentally setting her off. Frankly, it was a testament to her control that I was still alive. Not that it was really my fault either - well, most of the time - as I'd known precious little about vampires and what not to do around them when I'd moved in, and she'd known that full well.

It was a learning experience for both of us, and in my defense, I _was _getting better at avoiding her triggers. Still, there were days that I almost - almost! - wished she'd take up practicing again. One of the things stopping me, of course, was the not-entirely-unreasonable worry that if she did, she'd start with me. I mean, come on, I was _right there_, after all. A nice, tasty morsel, ripe for the taking. Thanks to a demon-inflicted vampire scar - looooooooong story short, it had shifted into a vampire (specifically, Ivy... yeah, I know, that just helped our living situation SOOOOO much) and injected me with its venom, which resulted in me having an unclaimed vampire mark; and believe you me, it was NOT easy getting Ivy to tell me just what had happened to me - all she had to do was release enough pheromones and not only would I not fight her when she came at me, I'd tell her to do more, and to hurry up about it. We'd already had a couple accidents, where she'd unintentionally sent waves of pleasure through me strong enough to cause my legs to give way underneath me. Just so you don't think I'm the only one who makes those kind of mistakes.

Like I said, it's been a learning experience for us both.

Frankly, it was a good thing Nick was in the room the last time it happened. (Nick's another long story, which I'll get into later.) I honestly don't know if she would have been able to stop herself if we'd been alone, and the only reason I was so disappointed that she hadn't kissed me, or bitten me, or... whatevered me was because of the damned pheromones.

Or at least, that was what I told myself to get to sleep at night.

She'd been utterly apologetic afterward, of course, but I didn't blame her, and made sure she knew so. I'd asked her if she wanted me to leave, if that would make things easier for her, but she'd looked horrified by the mere idea, and refused to even entertain the suggestion.

And as dangerous as staying might sometimes be, I'll admit that part of me feels all warm and fuzzy inside when I think about how much she wants me to stay.

Even if I'm not entirely clear on the why of it.

I'm getting off topic, aren't I? Sorry. Anyway, it was Friday night, Ivy and Jenks were out on a run, and I was home alone, having just finished brewing up a couple of fresh potions, when someone knocked at the front door. "Just a minute!" I called, putting the last of my supplies away. As I headed toward the foyer, I idly wondered just who was at the door. Keasley? It was a bit late in the day for a visit, especially so randomly. He was getting up there in age, after all, even for a witch, and with his arthritis he didn't often go places just because, especially at night. One of Ivy's... friends? I debated going to get my cross, but decided against it. After all, anyone it would work against wouldn't be able to enter the church in the first place.

Curious, now, I opened the door... and my brain momentarily froze.

The woman standing there was... perfect. Completely, utterly perfect.

She was tall, standing several inches above Ivy even in flats. Her hair was a deep red, three or four shades darker then mine, and while I couldn't quite pin down her age, I was leaning toward the younger side of the spectrum, as she'd added lighter red and orange highlights strategically, making her long mane of hair almost look like flames. Her green eyes seemed to sparkle with an inner light. Her lips quirked in a little smile, as if she knew life was a joke, and someone had already told her the punchline. She was wearing a black dress which exposed just enough of her legs that (I presumed) it would be hard for a guy not to look, and the neckline dipped low enough that it might be... interesting... if she took a deep breath. Her face would have made Helen of Troy weep with envy, and she had the kind of body women like me could only _dream _of.

The thing of it was, I wasn't attracted to her at all. I know, the way I'm gushing, you wouldn't think that, right? But it's true. The weird thing was, part of me felt like I _should _have been attracted to her, even though I don't like women that way. (Stop laughing back there. Don't think I can't see you.) I did, however, feel strangely happy to see her, as if a best friend I hadn't seen in ages had just shown up out of the blue. I'd never heard of vampires pulling anything like _that_, but then, she didn't smell like a vampire. She smelled like... nothing.

That startled me enough to shake me out of the stupor I'd fallen into after laying eyes on her. She had no scent. At all. I didn't see how that was possible, unless she had an amulet on her somewhere that was completely masking her scent. (Which was something I had no idea how to make - or had really even heard of - but would have dearly loved to own. It would have solved so many of the issues Ivy and I had.) There was no reason I could think of for this woman to be wearing such a thing just that didn't involve her being in some kind of serious trouble, most likely trying to shake a tail of some kind.

Which, admittedly, is just the sort of person who might show up unannounced on the doorstep of a Runners' agency.

"Can I help you?" I asked finally, hoping I hadn't stood there staring like an idiot for as long as it had felt like.

Her secretive smile widened. "I believe that you can." Her voice was smooth, cultured, and wrapped around me like a warm hug. What _was _this? "The question, I believe, if whether or not you will."

My manners finally decided to kick me in the ass, and I stepped to the side. "Please, come inside. I was just fixing a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," she said as she walked past me. I could feel warmth as she brushed by me, as if she was running a high fever, and had to push down a bizarre impulse to give her a hug. I didn't feel any magic coming from her, which ruled out most of the usual suspects, and vampire abilities simply did not work this way. (Believe me, if Ivy could have inspired a desire to cuddle in me, instead of mindless passion, she would have done so.) I didn't know a lot about what the undead could do, or demons, but neither of them could have set foot on holy ground. What _was _this woman?

Some details were in order. "What's your name?" I asked as I led her to the kitchen. "And just what is it you think I can do for you?"

"Tamara Jordan. And I want you to find someone."

She sat down at the table while I retrieved a couple of mugs from the cupboard and poured the coffee. There would be more then enough left for Ivy when she got back, in case she wanted any. "Who?"

"I can't say."

I paused before pouring the second cup, giving her a Look. "That'll make it rather difficult to find them, then."

She smiled again. Or maybe she hadn't stopped. "I have confidence in your abilities, Rachel."

That gave me pause. Not that she had confidence in me - that was kind of nice to hear, actually - but that she knew my name. I hadn't introduced myself, yet. "You know my name."

"I'm here for you, Rachel. Not one of your partners. I know a great deal about you."

My undernourished ego soaked that up, even as I felt some suspicions stir. She knew a great deal about me? How? Our agency hadn't even been in business for that long. "Why are you here, really?"

"I told you, I want you to find someone." She reached over and picked up a newspaper that had been sitting folded on the table, opening it up and flipping through it in search of something.

I finished pouring the coffee and brought the mugs to the table, studying her closely as I did, and I realized something. It wasn't that she was so overwhelmingly beautiful that made her stand out the way she did - though, well, see above - so much as it was an utterly complete lack of flaws. Her skin didn't have the slightest wrinkle, her face didn't have so much as a dimple, her teeth were all straight and gleaming white, her hair looked to be silky smooth and seemed to have never even _heard _of split ends, there wasn't even a hint of a blemish anywhere on her, her nails - manicured and polished in a clear shade - were flawless... I could go on in detail, but the short of it was that that kind of perfection just did not _exist _in nature. Even vampires didn't have it that good. And that wasn't even getting into the odd happy feelings she seemed to provoke in me. There was a curious sense of familiarity to her, as well, I decided. I just couldn't place her.

Nothing to do but keep asking questions, then. "And why do you want to find this person?"

She smiled approvingly, as if I'd finally asked an intelligent question. Rather then answering, though, she laid the newspaper on the table and turned it so that I could read it. She tapped her finger on a story headlined HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT DIES IN ACCIDENTAL FIRE.

I skimmed over it. "Kristin Blake. Honor student, head of the debate team, had just gotten a full scholarship to UCLA... Police called it a tragic accident."

"It wasn't."

I eyed her. "It wasn't tragic?"

"It wasn't an accident."

I started. "If you have information pertaining to a murder, you really need to go talk to the cops."

She shook her head. "The F.I.B. would not be able to handle this, and the I.S., well, I'm certain I don't need to tell you of the prevailing attitude toward such crimes within the agency."

My stomach tightened. No, she didn't. The I.S., as a whole, seemed more interested in covering up any Inderland-related crimes then they were in solving them and bringing the perpetrator to justice. Sometimes, I wondered if maybe that wasn't because someone, somewhere within the agency, wasn't in some way related to the crime in question.

Other times I was certain of it.

"Who'd want to kill her, though?" I asked, looking at the article. There didn't seem to be any reason behind it.

She flipped through the paper again, stopping at the obituaries. "Them," she corrected, pointing to one obit, then another. And another. And another. There were six in all, which, if she was to be believed, meant there was a serial killer out there who'd racked up seven kills - at least - in the last week. "And that is something you'll need to find out, isn't it?"

"I'd need more to go on then this!" I protested. "How do you even know that they were murdered? Why hasn't anyone else picked up on that, if it's true? Why did you come to me with this? What are you?"

"You don't need to know what I am." Evidently, that was the only question she felt was worth answering... and she hadn't really even answered that.

"I disagree. A few too many people have been trying to kill me lately for me to just blithely trust you. Hell, I'm willing to bet your name isn't really even Tamara." She raised an eyebrow at that, but declined to comment. "Now, tell me who you are. Who you **really** are."

"You don't remember me, then?" she asked, looking almost sad for a moment. "I was afraid that might be the case."

"...we've never met."

"In point of fact, we have," she corrected. "Though I believe there is much from that time of your life that you don't remember. Your friends from camp, for one."

I stiffened. There was no way, no freaking way, that she could possibly know anything about that from police contacts or word of mouth. "Who are you?" I whispered. "How are you here?" I wasn't even sure why I asked her that, just that I needed to know.

She stared at me for a long moment, and I stubbornly stared back. She sighed. "As you wish." The words were barely audible, and I was seized with the sudden, horrifying knowledge that I'd just made a huge mistake, that I should have left well enough alone.

Too late now. She was speaking again, and her explanation did nothing but chill me to the core.

"My true name, as you would know it, is Tamiel." She smiled, and there was something about it that made me shiver. "And Fallen or not, I am fully capable of setting foot on hallowed ground without repercussion. Being cast out did nothing to change that."

I didn't say anything in reply, because I was too busy screaming inside my head.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Morgan Sanction (2/?)

Legal-Type Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own The Hollows. (Are you surprised by this?) I do own the OCs, though.

Author's Note: This is going to be even more AU then my other Hollows story, picking up shortly after the events of Dead Witch Walking.

Did I mention it was an AU?

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. - Albert Einstein 

* * *

The bottom fell out of my stomach.

One of the Fallen. One of the Fallen was standing in my kitchen. I was looking one of the Fallen. Talking to one of the Fallen. I'm not exactly what you would call religious - which wasn't to say I didn't believe; I mean, crosses, holy ground, and the like affect demons and undead vamps for a reason - but I did know enough to have a fair idea of how indescribably bad this was.

Excuse me a moment, will you? I'm going to have a minor coronary. Won't take but a minute.

The Fallen were something that nobody really discussed. Not from any kind of 'ignore them and they'll go away' kind of mentality, but more because going around asking questions ran the serious risk of attracting their attention. Some said they drew power from fear, despair, hatred. Personally, I thought they knew they stood a better chance of getting people to make deals or sell their soul or whatever if they were full of one or more of those emotions. Any textbooks that mentioned them at all gave next to no solid information, and any advice they offered amounted to 'avoid at all costs'.

And one of them had come looking for me.

Specifically.

For.

Me.

And I thought I'd been scared out of my mind when I'd been attacked by that demon. Frankly, this was a benchmark I could have lived without setting. Fear like that was like ice water: a cold feeling that you swallow, which rolls down your throat and spreads into your chest, robbing you of your breath and sending your heart into hyperdrive. Your muscles begin twitching and vibrating out of your control, resulting in anything from you trembling like a leaf to you collapsing into a whimpering heap. However you slice it, though, you're not going to be able to carry out your brain's increasingly urgent demands to get the hell away.

That was me. I stood there, wide-eyed and shaking, as I stared at Tamiel. She, for her part, watched me in what might have been amusement, sipping at her coffee. My own mug sat on the table in front of me, forgotten.

"Well," she mused after swallowing. "At least you have some idea of what you face. Good. That will help you. Now, back to the issue at hand."

It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about, and several more to find my voice again. My words came out more unsteady and quiet then I would have liked. "You can't seriously think I'm actually going to take a run from you."

She smiled. It looked wholesome and pleasant. How did she get away with that? "I know that you will. That's not the issue."

"Oh, really? And just what do you think 'the issue' is?" Well, that was a little better. I didn't sound like a scared five-year-old girl, at least. I think I'd made it up to nine.

"Whether or not you will live long enough to complete your task."

I sat down in the nearest chair, mainly because otherwise I would have collapsed to the ground. Apparently, I just hadn't been scared enough before. "Why me?"

The question had barely even been a whisper, and hadn't _really _been directed at her, but she answered anyway. Well, sort of. "Because, ultimately, it could be no one else. Because you are not the kind of woman who can sit idly back while innocents are murdered. Because it is better for you to have an idea what you're getting yourself into, rather then simply jumping in blind." She paused, then added, "Again."

I wasn't sure exactly what she was referring to with that last, which by itself is probably proof that she may have had a point. May have. A tiny one.

"I can pass your concerns along to the authorities, but I'm not actually an officer of the law, anymore," I told her. "If I captured a killer, I'd have to do that, anyway. And they get awfully testy if you try and play vigilante." Well, the I.S. did, at least. Of course, they didn't exactly like me all that much to begin with.

"If you want to bring your partners in on the case, I understand." I got the feeling she wasn't exactly listening to me. "Chances are you will need their help, and more, if you are to survive this."

"Why do you care?" I asked. If she wasn't going to listen to me when I told her no, I figured I might as well try something else. "I mean, you're..." I couldn't think of a polite way to finish that sentence, so I just trailed off and made a vague gesture at her with my hand. "Why should _you _care if innocent people are killed?" Presuming, of course, that they were innocent at all.

She looked like she was actually going to answer, but before she could do more then inhale, we were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening again. "Hey, Rache! We're back!" Jenks called. "You are _not _going to believe what happened!"

Bet I could top it.

Tamiel smiled, as if she could hear what I was thinking. Hell, maybe she could.

Oh, scary thought.

Ivy and Jenks looked the same as they ever did when they entered the kitchen, so whatever it was that had happened couldn't have been _too _bad. Of course, I probably looked like I always did to an outside observer, too, so that didn't necessarily mean anything. They paused upon seeing that I had company, and froze in place once they got a good look at her, wearing twin looks of astonishment.

Well, it was nice to see that I wasn't the only one she did that to.

Tamiel, for her part, merely sat there, letting them gawk. Hell, she was probably used to people reacting that way to her. I took advantage of the distraction to try and pull myself together. I wasn't sure what to do, but staying put and not attracting her attention seemed like a good idea.

Right up until I noticed Ivy's eyes going black with lust. Apparently, we _weren't _reacting exactly the same way, after all.

I was out of my chair before I realized it, and walked around the table on shaky legs until I was standing in between them. Exactly what I planned to do from there I had no idea, but I knew I couldn't just sit there and let Ivy make a horrific mistake.

"Rachel?" Ivy sounded both tense and wary, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. They might have been too distracted before, but I was certain she and Jenks could both smell the fear rolling off me in waves, and when Tamiel rose to her feet and I unconsciously took a step away from her I clued them in to why. "Who's your guest?"

"Client," Tamiel corrected with a smile.

"**Not** client," I ground out. Ivy stepped up beside me, and I had ann illogical impulse to shove her back behind me, possibly out of the room. Still... It was nice not to be standing there by myself. To Ivy, I said, "She calls herself Tamiel." Ivy jerked and looked at me in surprise, then understanding. She recognized the name. Swell. At least now she had an idea why I was so scared. A quiet voice in the back of my mind told me that standing next to a vampire while reeking of terror was not the best idea, but I was certain Ivy's protective instincts would prevent any... unfortunate accidents. "She wants me to find someone for her."

"Not for me," Tamiel murmured, shaking her head as if I were a naughty schoolchild. Her smile hadn't faded.

"And who would that be?" Ivy sounded as suspicious as I felt, which was nice.

"She won't tell me."

"Won't that make finding them hard?"

My lips twitched, but I couldn't quite manage a smile. "That's what I said. According to her, we've got a serial killer operating in Cincinnati and didn't notice."

"Oh, she's noticed, Rachel."

Afraid or not, **that** I wasn't about to just ignore. I took a step towards her, fully prepared to lay into her for even _implying _that Ivy might have in any way known something. Fortunately, Ivy placed a hand on my shoulder and spoke up before I could say anything that might have resulted in my immolation. "She's talking about our run tonight. There was a vampire that... Well, long story short, he admitted to accepting a contract on a young woman's life, but burst into flames before he could tell us who hired him."

My stomach lurched unpleasantly. "And that's who you want to send me after?"

She raised an eyebrow. "If you wanted safe, boring jobs, perhaps you should have stayed with the I.S."

Well... Yeah, there was that.

Ivy knew me well enough to guess what I was thinking, and interposed herself between us in one of her blink-and-you'll-miss-it movements. Her control was slipping. Fantastic. "Absolutely not. You can't have her. She's a white witch, anyway, so you have no claim on her." Ivy thought she was here to... what? Corrupt me? Was she known for leading witches astray, or something? "Why not come after me, if that's what you want?"

"When did I say that was what I wanted?" Tamiel asked innocently. She seemed like she didn't even notice there was an agitated pixy buzzing near her head, but I could tell it was more that she just didn't care. "Besides, a Tamwood vampire? Please. I could corrupt one of you with my eyes shut." She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. "Actually, I think I have, once," she mused. I told myself quite firmly that I did not want to know what she was talking about.

I'm not sure myself entirely bought that.

She shook her head abruptly. "No, young Tamwood. I prefer a challenge."

Well, _that _sounded uncomfortably familiar.

"I think you should leave, now," I told her quietly. If she actually did want me to take this run, she'd know that antagonizing my partners was not the best way to go about it. I still had no intention of working for her, but if it got her to leave, she could think whatever she liked.

She inclined her head in agreement. "Perhaps so," she replied, standing. "Though there is one other thing," she added.

From behind me.

With a muffled yelp, I whirled. Sure enough, there she was, not even a foot away. A quick check, mainly because I couldn't help it, showed that, no, she wasn't in her chair anymore. I hadn't blinked, but I still hadn't seen her move.

Not like I hadn't already known I was outclassed in just about every way possible. That just seemed like showing off.

She was shaking her head, looking almost... disappointed? "You haven't been taking very good care of yourself since you went independent, have you, Little One?" Her gaze flicked from the demon mark on my wrist to the scars on my neck, and I could swear they tingled a little. She sighed. "Clearly, you are going to need some help to get through this." She grabbed my right arm, just below the shoulder. "Fortunately for you, I can provide it." Sudden heat flared under her hand, and I decided she'd probably grabbed me to keep me from staggering away.

I doubt I could have managed more then that. The pain was shockingly intense, and only the fact that I couldn't get the breath I needed kept me from screaming in agony. Realistically, it couldn't have lasted for more then a second or two, because I was pretty sure Ivy would have charged at the Fallen angel if it had gone for any longer, despite knowing she wouldn't have had a chance. (And she calls me impulsive.) It somehow felt longer, but eventually the pain faded, then was gone. She let go, studied my arm - which looked the same as ever to me, from what I could see - for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "That should suffice. If you need to get in touch with me, you can reach me here." She produced a business card from precisely nowhere that I could ascertain and handed it to me.

I took it from sheer reflex, mentally willing her to just _leave _already. "See you soon," she promised, then turned and began to walk away. For an instant, her form glowed with a muted light, and I could have sworn I saw a pair of black wings beat the air once - despite there not being anything attached to her back - and in a rush of displaced air, she was simply gone.

She hadn't tapped a line, I hadn't felt the slightest bit of magic, but she was undeniably not there anymore.

"Well," I managed after several seconds of stunned silence. "That was... something." I looked down at the card she'd given me. It was light on details, giving me only her (assumed) name, profession, and a phone number. It was worth noting, though, that the first two were **Tamara Jordan, Attorney at Law**.

The Fallen angel was a lawyer. There were so many jokes there that I didn't even know where to start.

"Jenks, did you get a scent off of her?" I asked quietly. It was starting to sink in I was still alive, though presumably still screwed, and an amount of numbness was settling in.

"No." He sounded personally offended by this, and that little bit of normalcy made me feel a little better. "There was nothing. I mean, _nothing_! Tink's titties, Rache! What have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Me?" I whirled around, indignant. "I didn't do anything but answer the door! _She came looking for me!_"

"And you told her no," Ivy observed quietly. Her too dark eyes were still focused on me, but I didn't even really notice the sensuality coloring her voice. I had bigger things to worry about.

"Of course I did. What, you think I _should _have agreed to work for the Fallen angel?" How could she even suggest that?

"The _what_?" Jenks interjected. Apparently, he hadn't known who she was, either. I felt a little less stupid for my own ignorance.

"You heard me. And yeah, I said no. Not that she seemed to get that. I'll go talk to Edden about the evident murders tomorrow." Because no matter what 'Ms. Jordan' thought, they _did _need to be involved. "Why don't you go see your family?" A sudden thought struck me, and I added, "And tell them that if they see a tall redhead around here without any noticeable scent, they should stay as far away from her as they can."

"Good idea." He zipped off to do just that, obviously not liking the idea of an innocent pixy anywhere near the hellbitch any more then I did. I privately resolved to begin looking into possible ways to keep her off our property.

"No," Ivy said quietly. When I looked at her in confusion, she added, "I wasn't saying you should have agreed. I was just... trying to understand. I've heard stories about her. She doesn't usually take no as an answer."

"Oh, she kept going on as if it was a foregone conclusion that I'd do what she wanted no matter what I said," I replied, noticing that I was trembling. Had that just started, or had I been doing so the whole time? I honestly had no idea, and wasn't sure if it even mattered. "Ivy..." What? What was I going to tell her? That I was scared? She already knew that.

She pulled me into a hug. It felt really nice. "Whatever happens, I'm right here with you," she promised.

I rested my chin on her shoulder, closing my eyes as the tremors subsided. "Thanks," I whispered. God, this was nice. Why didn't we hug more often?

"Anything for you," she purred, breath warm on my neck. I could have sworn I felt her lips ghost over my skin.

Oh, right. This was why.

Curiously, I didn't feel as afraid as I would have before. Nothing like a visit from an agent of Hell to put things into perspective, I guess. "Um, Ivy...?"

"I don't want it to smell so good. Your blood. Your fear. But it does," she whispered to me, and I started when one of her hands made its way down to my ass. "Rachel..."

The way she said my name, her silken voice sliding over me like a lover's caress, made my insides jitter in a surprisingly pleasant way. _Rachel, your roommate is feeling you up, _my mind pointed out rationally. _Don't you think you should do something about that? _

I deliberately ignored the small voice in the back of my head that asked me why I'd want to do that. Just because I hadn't been with anyone like _that _in depressingly long - well, it depressed me, anyway - was no reason to take advantage of Ivy's loss of control. I would never use her like that.

And, you know, I was straight.

(Should it have worried me that Ivy barely had to do anything to reduce my sexuality to an afterthought?)

"Ivy, I think it's been a fairly long day for both of us," I began calmly, which I think was a hell of a feat, since the kisses on my neck were becoming more deliberate and provocative. "And tomorrow may well be longer. We should probably get to bed."

She pulled back and looked at me, eyes as black as sin, a sly smile playing about her lips. "Mmm, you read my mind."

Crap. I could have phrased _that _better, couldn't I? Her lips lowered to my neck again before I could clarify, sucking now. She hadn't bitten me - not yet - but things certainly seemed to be heading in that direction. I felt a moment of delirious pleasure from my scar.

Then the damnedest thing happened.

I felt a tingling on my arm where Tamiel had grabbed me, and what I could only call a quivering pulse seemed to spread out from there through the rest of my body. I had no idea what it was, but it seemed to wash away the demon scar-induced euphoria as if it had never been there. "Ivy?" To my embarrassment, my voice came out breathy and full of need. (In my defense, though, her mouth on my neck was an incredible distraction.) I cleared my throat and tried again. "Ivy, I think she did something to my arm."

That did it. Whatever else Ivy might have been feeling just then, her protective instincts pushed it aside. Ironic, that she'd seek to protect me from everything but herself. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." I hesitated, uncertain how to phrase what I was thinking. She waited patiently while I organized my thoughts. "You're still pumping out pheromones, right?"

Her cheeks tinged red. "Um. Yes."

I pushed on before she could apologize, or worse, leave. "Look at me, Ivy. What am I **not** doing right now?"

Her eyes narrowed as she caught on. "You did react at first, though."

"For a moment, yeah." And I'd gotten her to stop after maybe three or four, which I was NOT thinking about. "But then..." I tried my best to describe the weird sensation I'd felt, pushing up my sleeve as I did. I was only wearing a T-shirt, so it didn't take long.

There, on my arm, was what looked like it could have been a tattoo - or a brand, which was an uncomfortable thought for a multitude of reasons - made up of what seemed, to me, to be a bunch of squiggling lines. I knew it was a sigil, and though I didn't recognize it, I felt confident in making a guess. "Tamiel?"

"It represents her, yes." Well, Ivy didn't sound aroused, anymore. That was a plus.

I think.

"I was afraid of that," I muttered. I shook my head. "I'm gonna take a shower, then go to bed. See you in the morning?"

Ivy nodded, still looking a bit embarrassed. I probably could have gotten her to join me, if I'd wanted to. It would have been easy. If I was attracted to Ivy like that, I probably would have. I didn't, though, so obviously I wasn't. Instead, I went off to go take a shower.

A cold, cold shower.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Morgan Sanction (3/?)

Legal-Type Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own The Hollows. (Are you surprised by this?) I do own the OCs, though.

Author's Note: This is going to be even more AU then my other Hollows story, picking up shortly after the events of Dead Witch Walking. Also, the Rachel/Ivy subtext becomes just the tiniest bit more blatant.

Did I mention it was an AU?

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. - Albert Einstein 

* * *

_I was in the kitchen, flipping through one of the old spell books from the attic. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but somehow I was certain I'd know it when I saw it._

"How's it coming?" Ivy's voice asked from behind me.

"It'd be better if I knew what I was trying to find," I replied, doing my best to be careful with the book despite my frustration.

"Don't worry, you'll figure it out," she assured me, placing her hands on my shoulders and beginning to massage them.

It felt good. Really, really good. Alarmingly so, in fact. My eyes briefly fluttered closed, and a quiet moan of satisfaction escaped me before I could stop it. "You don't need to do that," I told her, though it didn't come out as convincing as I might have liked.

"You're far too tense," she replied, clucking in disapproval. "You needn't worry so much. Not everyone reacts to conversations about their heritage the way I did."

I had no idea what she was talking about, but before I could ask, she nipped gently at my neck. She didn't break the skin there, but she did utterly derail my train of thought. "What are you doing?" I whispered, my voice rasping out harshly. Or at least, that was how it sounded compared to her silken response.

"What you want me to do."

"I... I-I never asked you to do this."

She swung around and sat on my lap, smoldering down at me so intensely that by all rights she should have set off smoke detectors five or six houses away. That she was only wearing her favorite black silk robe helped with that. Immensely. "You don't need to ask, Rachel. You can't hide this from me, and you know it."

Then she kissed me.

I moaned into the kiss, only vaguely surprised to find myself returning it with equal fervor. I forgot about the problem at hand, I forgot about our surroundings, I forgot about my strident denials that I was attracted to Ivy... Hell, I don't think I could have remembered my own name just then, if prompted.

It was only when Ivy broke off the kiss and turned her attention to my neck that rational thought began to creep back in. "Ivy, wait..."

"You'll love it, really, Rachel," she promised me. "You know you've always wondered what it would be like if **I** actually did this, rather then some impostor." She closed the distance between us, and I moaned again when I felt the icy pleasure of her fangs sliding inside me-  
  
I awoke with a start, for a moment still feeling a phantom tingling in my neck where dream Ivy had bitten me. My entire body throbbed with unfulfilled desire, and I nearly yelled for Ivy before common sense reared its ugly head once again.

I was not going to use Ivy as a scratching post, I told myself sternly. She was my friend, and she deserved better then that.

_Go down on her enough and she'd get over it. _

My cheeks burned. No, **no**. She was not a sex toy.

_She probably owns plenty, though. Wouldn't it be fun to use them with her? _

I groaned and slapped a hand over my eyes. What was wrong with me, this morning? I'd been sexually frustrated before, but I'd never reacted to it like this.

_How many times has the cure for it been literally across the hallway? _

I didn't _like _women like that, damn it!

_Yeah, right. Just who are you trying to convince, anyway? _

I don't know what was worse: that I was arguing with myself about this, or that the counter-arguments were making an uncomfortable amount of sense.

It was a good thing that Ivy wasn't actually there, I decided firmly. My dreams - triggered by a subconscious that evidently hadn't yet noticed that I had a new scar of sorts that seemed to counteract the older one - would have coated the air with the scent of lust so thickly that I don't think she could have held back for long.

There was a knock at my bedroom door. "Rachel? Are you okay?"

Apparently, the universe hated me this morning.

"I'm fine," I called back, cursing the way my voice warbled as I did.

_Please, come in, _my mind added gleefully. _You can leave those pesky clothes at the door, if you like. _

Oh, God. I was going to get myself killed, at this rate.

"Are you sure?" she asked, concerned. She hadn't opened the door, yet. Did she suspect what was going on? Had she heard something when I'd been asleep? Could she smell me through the closed door?

_If I say no, will you come in and ravish me? _

"O-of course!" I choked out, scrambling out of bed and yanking on some clothes.

_The better for you to undress me, my dear... _

This was just getting embarrassing. Was this some consequence of my new 'tattoo'? Were those thoughts actually mine?

I shook my head. That way lay paranoia and madness. Best to just ignore it and push on. "Just had a... weird dream, is all." Well, that was one way of putting it. "I'll be out in a minute."

"I'll go put the coffee on, then." I didn't actually hear her walk away from my door, but that meant nothing. I knew exactly how quietly she could move, and while she wasn't as bad with the vamp stuff while the sun was up as she was at night, I'd only ever hear her move if she deliberately made noise for my benefit.

That she didn't feel any need to do so now told me she wasn't still overly embarrassed or upset about nearly jumping me last night, which was good. After all, I _wanted _her to be comfortable with the idea of jumping me- er, I mean, there was nothing for her to be upset over. Because, really, nothing had happened. Something _could _have happened, but it hadn't, because Ivy had stopped when I'd asked her to. She hadn't lost control, so she had nothing to be ashamed of, and I (for once) hadn't made things worse due to ignorance or sheer stupidity, so neither did I.

Once I was dressed, I made my way to my bathroom - once my hormones began dying down, my bladder had begun begging for attention - and it wasn't until I was about to leave and head to the kitchen that I noticed something in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Pausing, I took a closer look, then winced as I caught sight of my reflection.

Or, more specifically, my neck.

Or, even more specifically then that, the fair-sized hickey that Ivy had left there.

Well, that was going to make heading down to the FIB later on all the more fun. Not that I was expecting anyone there to tease me, or anything. Oh, noooooooooo, not them. They'd _never _do that.

_At least they won't automatically assume that I was necking with Ivy, so to speak, _I decided, trying to think positively. Unlike, say, Jenks, who would easily be able to figure out who was responsible. That thought made me fight down another wince, and give serious consideration to covering it up with a bandage of some kind. It was too bad that the weather was way too warm to wear any clothes that might hide it.

Ultimately, I just decided not to bother. Yeah, I might end up being teased a bit, but none of it would be malicious, and if I just treated it like it was no big deal, hopefully Ivy wouldn't get upset about causing it in the first place.

Decision made, I headed out to the kitchen. "You know, it occurs to me that I have no idea what Edden's usual work schedule is," I began as I made for the counter, where Ivy had been nice enough to leave an empty mug sitting near the coffee pot for my use. "Would he even be there on a Saturday?" I asked as I began fixing myself a cup of much needed coffee.

"Ordinarily, probably not, or at least not all day," Ivy replied. We both knew the FIB were overworked and understaffed, but agency regulations - not to mention the law itself - mandated days off, in order to prevent burnout. "I called him last night and set up an appointment, though, after my mark went up in flames."

"I hope you don't mind if I tag along." I took a sip of coffee - ah, liquid gold - and leaned against the counter, getting my first good look at Ivy of the day.

The good news was that, unlike in my dream, she was fully dressed. Yes, that was _good _news, you pervs. The bad news, though, was that she was wearing a pair of exceptionally tight leather pants that made me wonder how she was able to move as fluidly as she was - and if she could even sit down - and a tight black T-shirt. Was she even wearing a bra? I probably could have seen her nipples through the fabric if I stared at her chest for much longer- um, at all. Which I wasn't, obviously. And I certainly entertained no thoughts about the tightness of her pants in regards to how they would show off her ass.

I was, after all, straight. Staring at Ivy's chest was not straight, nor was fantasizing about her ass. Therefore, I couldn't possibly have done either.

See? Simple logic.

"Not as long as you don't mind riding on my bike," she countered, finally looking at me. Thank God, she hadn't caught my not-at-all staring.

"Saves me a cab ride," I replied evenly, though I was not nearly so sanguine about things. Ivy, you see, is something of a speed freak when she drives. Oh, she's plenty careful, don't get me wrong, but that's in vamp terms. For those of us with slower reactions and reflexes, her driving can be downright terrifying. And it was worse on her motorcycle then when she drove a car.

I made a mental note not to bother having any more cups of coffee. If I was going to go on a ride with Ivy, I didn't need any.

Hell, I might not need any for a week or so.

"Good. Then-" She broke off, finally noticing my new neck decoration. Her expression went from surprise to chagrin in short order, and her cheeks tinged pink.

Dear God, it was adorable. And I mean that in an entirely platonic sense.

...

I can _hear _you snickering, you know.

"So, what time is your appointment? If it's soon, we may as well go now. We can tell Jenks how things went when we get back." I kept my tone level, telling her several things at once: I wasn't upset with her, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, and I didn't see any need to endure Jenks' relentless teasing any sooner then I absolutely had to.

Silent gratitude flashed through her eyes, and she nodded. "It's in a couple hours, but we can head out now. I'll buy you breakfast."

Ordinarily, my pride might have pushed me into saying that I could damn well buy my own breakfast, especially if she was saving me the money of a couple of cab trips. But I got the idea that this was her way of making things up to me without actually bringing the subject up, so I simply shrugged. "Works for me." The only leather I was wearing was my boots, as I'd settled on a pair of jeans and a green shirt. People looking at us together would no doubt wonder what the hell a walking wet dream (shut **up**!) like Ivy was doing with someone like me. I didn't blame them, as I ask myself that question all the time.

One of these days, maybe I'll actually figure out an answer. 

* * *

I probably should have mentioned it before, but there is another reason I'm not terribly fond of the idea of riding on Ivy's bike. You know how vampires are driven by scent, right? Mixing scents is not a good idea if you want your blood to stay where it is - I'd accidentally killed one of Ivy's robes trying to get mine off of it after she'd let me borrow it the first night we stayed together - and riding with her entails holding onto her rather tightly. Being pressed right up against her. Not even the rushing wind was enough to keep my smell from hanging on her, and vice versa.

I'd made sure to spray myself with the latest perfume we were experimenting with before we left the church. This one was citrus-based, and seemed more effective in burying and/or neutralizing my scent then the others had been.

That was good, because I could not keep myself from clinging to Ivy for dear life as we raced down the highway. I did, at least, manage not to scream like a little girl. I even had my eyes open.

Most of the time.

I know what you're thinking. You're remembering what you've heard about me before, concluding that I'm some kind of adrenaline junkie, and wondering why I wasn't whooping with delight from that kind of thrill ride.

Well, the short answer to that is that I've seen the result of a high speed motorcycle accident before. The rider had been mangled beyond any recognition, looking more like a skinned side of beef then the person he had been. There hadn't been an unbroken bone in his body - and only a driver's license and an autopsy had let us know that it had been a man at all. And the smell... Two words for you: ruptured intestines.

What can I say? It was the kind of thing that makes an impression on a girl.

I hadn't been working with Ivy then, but she did know about it, so she never pushed me on the subject. If I didn't trust her as much as I do, I'd never be able to get on one with her.

Still, when I say that it took me a little while to manage to loosen my grip after we arrived at a restaurant, I don't want any confusion as to why. If she weren't a vampire, she'd probably have bruises of her own from my death grip on her. She never said a word about it, though.

She's kind of awesome like that.

We took our time eating, discussing just what we should and shouldn't tell the FIB. Everything about Ivy's night was in, of course, and we could hardly avoid mentioning my late night visitor. We ultimately decided to keep her true nature to ourselves, though. Not that either of us thought Edden couldn't handle it, but knowledge like that would only put him in unnecessary danger. If there came a time when he needed to know, in order to solve the case, then we'd revisit the subject. For now, though, the fewer people who knew just what Tamara Jordan really was, the better.

Not to mention, she might not _want _the FIB to know, and might not react well to us telling them.

I had no problem with keeping this secret. He'd just ask why one of the Fallen had come to me, specifically. I was rather curious about that, myself, but until I had an answer, I was fine with the subject never coming up. Besides, Tamiel's vagueness and non-answers made just as much sense coming from a lawyer.

The FIB building, when we got there, seemed just as busy on a Saturday as it had every other time we'd been there. It made me feel a bit wistful, if only for a moment, for being part of something like that. I had been, once, before things had gone wrong at I.S. I'd honestly believed, back then, that I was part of a team fighting for law and order, for justice. Fighting the good fight, and all that. _That _notion had died quickly enough, though.

I may have needed to quit and join the private sector, but I finally really was part of such a team.

And it felt good.

The FIB, unlike their Inderland counterparts, really did investigate and solve crimes. That was why they hired us as part time consultants in the first place, so that they could actually help any Inderlanders that came to them, knowing full well that the I.S. wouldn't.

Not that I thought _everyone _in I.S. was corrupt, incompetent, or useless. My dad hadn't been, after all. Neither had I. Or Ivy. Jenks had never actually signed a contract with them in the first place, but even if he had, I wouldn't ever dream of applying those terms to him.

Captain Edden was a stocky man with short black hair and a graying mustache. He was also about my height, which was nice for me. I preferred being able to look people in the eye, when I could. As usual, he was dressed in a white dress shirt and khakis. I'd never really needed to wear a uniform, but I thought I could have stood that kind of dress code. Not that I really considered myself managerial potential. I'd get way too bored if I didn't get to go out on runs. Sometimes, I thought Edden felt that way, too.

It had never come up in conversation, so I didn't know for sure, but I was still fairly certain that he'd been a marine at some point. Maybe he'd worn contacts then, instead of the plastic-framed glasses he had now.

I knew he'd be interested in what we had to say, since he'd only been expecting Ivy, and had made the appointment at all. Not that he treated her anything other then professionally, but... Well, she _had _fractured his wrist in four places, resulting in him needing to get a cast. Add to that the rest of the chaos and destruction she and Jenks had caused on their first visit, and it was little wonder that they seemed to prefer dealing with me.

As long as they didn't start disparaging Ivy or Jenks outright, that was fine with me. I hate to admit it, but it did make me feel good to be able to do something that Ivy the Super Runner couldn't. But since I knew that I couldn't always be there, I made sure to bring one or both of them with me when possible, just to get both sides used to dealing with each other. Just call me Kissinger.

Filling Edden in didn't take all that long, in and of itself. Ivy's story was just as gruesome as I'd been expecting, and once I explained about 'Tamara' wanting to hire me, Edden was definitely interested. "Tamara Jordan came to you?" he asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

"You know her?" My recently eaten meal suddenly wasn't quite sitting still in my stomach. Edden was a good man. I was certain of it. How did he know who she was?

"I've never met her personally, but I've heard of her. Mostly she does contract law, with some occasional defense work on the side. She's damned good - and damned expensive."

"And just damned," I murmured under my breath. Ivy's lips twitched briefly. I had to admit, I was honestly surprised. I'd thought she'd just made up the name and profession to appear normal, at first. That she was actually a practicing attorney, that real people knew her and interacted with her on a regular basis...

I didn't know what to make of it. How long had she been around? Just what kind of cases did she handle? Why had I never heard of her before, if she was so well known?

Why _had _she come to me?

"Well, she wouldn't tell me how she knew all those deaths are connected, or even if she really knew it for a fact at all," I complained. I'd written the names down before we'd left the church, and while the paper was a bit creased from being in my pocket, they were still legible. "She barely told me anything, really. I have no idea if she's protecting someone, or just guessed, or... what." I shook my head. "I can't even tell you what she **is**. If you happen to come across any information on that subject, I'd love to know what it says." Which was true. I was kind of curious to know what everyone else believed her to be. That might just help me avoid slipping up and saying something I shouldn't.

I don't know what it was, exactly, but something besides the obvious was telling me that it would be far, far too easy to get myself killed if I took this run.

So why did I get the feeling that I'd end up doing so anyway?


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: The Morgan Sanction (4/?)**

Legal-Type Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own The Hollows. (Are you surprised by this?) I do own the OCs, though.

Author's Note: This is going to be even more AU then my other Hollows story, picking up shortly after the events of Dead Witch Walking. Also? The muse is evil. You are warned.

Did I mention it was an AU?

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. - Albert Einstein 

* * *

The first thing we did was look over the FIB's files on the seven victims.

Given that none of the murders had actually been reported as such, they didn't really contain much more information then the obituaries did. The addresses would eventually help, at least. There was nothing especially remarkable about any of their deaths: one had been a hit and run, one had suffered from a severe allergic reaction to walnuts (though he'd never shown any problem with them before; that had been chalked up to no one remembering seeing him actually _eating _any before), one had drowned, two had been the victims of (seemingly) random muggings, one - an EMT, and the eldest of them at thirty-four - had been caught in the crossfire of a gang shootout, and then there was Kristin's fire. All tragic, but all perfectly normal for life in a city. Frankly, the fact that none of them were Inderlander-inflicted was in and of itself almost noteworthy.

I almost began to wonder if we were chasing our tails, but... Well, it wasn't like I had _forgotten _just who had dropped this run in my lap.

I was pretty sure a Fallen angel would be more likely to try and convince me that a series of deaths really _were _tragic and unrelated then she would the opposite.

Which still left the nagging question of just what her game was.

One curious fact eventually stood out: While, at first glance, none of the victims seemed to have anything in common, not a single one of them had a father. Or brothers and/or sisters.

Oh, there were a few step-fathers, a couple of half-siblings, and one step-brother. But the fact that none of the birth fathers were in the picture - that, from all appearances, all seven had vanished before the mothers had even discovered they were pregnant - was strange. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, and made a mental note to get back to the subject later. Maybe ask a couple of discreet questions while interviewing the families.

And yes, despite what Ivy may think, I _can _do discreet.

I wasn't sure when, exactly, I'd decided to accept the run, but there it was. I guess Tamiel was right: I _wasn't _the kind of woman who could sit idly back while innocents were murdered, even if I knew how dangerous it was going to be.

Hell, maybe even _especially _then.

Only half-joking, I wondered if I might need therapy.

But innocents _were _dying. And not just innocents, but genuinely good people. Kristin had been a bright, kind, and cheerful girl, and she'd been on the low end of the goodness spectrum compared to some of the others, like the EMT. Or the girl who was constantly volunteering at homeless shelters. The doctor. Even the banker, who I wouldn't have been surprised to learn had been a miserable excuse for a human being (okay, maybe I have issues with banks, but that has nothing to do with the hassle my mother and I went through to get a loan for college for me, **or** the one I went through by myself when I had to start paying them off), had just been a... good person.

I've never been a huge believer in the whole "good and evil" concept. I was a runner, after all. I've seen enough to know people aren't so black and white. But if there were forces of evil out there...

Well, these were just the sort of people they'd want to get rid of.

Which once again brought me back to the question of why Tamiel would care. I mean, not to belabor the point, but, well, _Fallen angel. _There had to be a reason, but I just couldn't see it. We couldn't really discuss it with Edden there, but I could tell Ivy didn't know, either.

Once we left FIB HQ - after Edden extracted a promise to call him the second we had something more substantial - it was time to figure out our next move. This wasn't exactly a normal run, after all. We couldn't really just come right out and ask, 'So, do you have any idea why your loved one might have been the target of some evil supernatural force? No, we can't prove that's the case. How do we know that's what happened, then? Why, because a Fallen angel walked up and told me so, without actually _saying _it.'

Yeah, that would work just **SOOOO **well.

Really, the best option we had available right then was to see if we could find anyone else who fit the profile - such as it was - and keep an eye on them, to try and catch the assassin in the act. The FIB would most likely be doing the same, but as undermanned and overworked as they were, neither of us expected them to be able to bring all that much in the way of resources to bear on the case, especially without any actual proof.

As much as I hated to admit it, this situation called for Ivy's "research and plan things into the ground" approach to things. She looked briefly stunned when I said as much to her.

"I'm not saying I'm going to make a habit out of it," I added quickly. "But this is promising to be several leagues more dangerous then any run we've ever taken, and I've only just recovered from the epic fun that was quitting IS. If I jump into _this _blind, getting killed would probably be the _best case _scenario." I really didn't want to think about what the worst case would be.

Judging by the look on her face, neither did Ivy. "Fair enough. Frankly, if ever there were a run I'd advise you to turn down, it's this one. But then, if you could just sit back and let more innocents die when you had a chance to prevent it... Well, you wouldn't be you." Her expression briefly shifted to something I couldn't interpret before smoothing out into her normal impassive facade, but whatever it had been made me feel warm inside.

"I honestly have no idea where to start, though," I said as she climbed onto her motorcycle. It took me a few seconds to work up the nerve to get on behind her. "I mean, it's not like there's a file somewhere that lists single mothers with children by fathers unknown."

"I can ask around discreetly, see if anyone's noticed anything unusual going on lately," Ivy offered. "But before that, I'm going to need to finish up with my run from last night. It shouldn't take _too _long, but..."

But since I hadn't been involved at all, I'd have nothing to do but sit around, being bored. Or that was what she was thinking, anyway. But I'd been considering the situation while we'd been reviewing what little information the FIB had, and I had a couple ideas of my own. "Actually, if you could drop me off downtown, I think I can keep myself occupied until you get back."

She twisted around briefly to give me an inquisitive look, but didn't push. She started up the bike, waited patiently while I resumed my previous death-grip on her, and off we went.

She dropped me off in front of the sporting goods store in the shopping plaza on 2nd and Main, promising to be back in three hours. Knowing Ivy, that meant I had _exactly _one hundred and eighty minutes and not one second more from the moment she left. At least that meant I didn't have to hurry.

I spent about twenty-two of those minutes in the sporting goods store. You'd be amazed at the variety of charms available to help one win at one sport or another - and all the ones meant to counter those charms - but that wasn't why I was there. One day, perhaps, when I had plenty of leisure time - and money - I might take a closer look, to see if anything there could be adapted for use on a run, but not today. I knew what I wanted, at least generally. What took so long was weighing cost against quality. I didn't need top end, but at the same time, I didn't want to risk getting something so cheap that it would break on me at the worst possible time.

Because, really, that was the way it _always _went.

I ended up splitting the difference, wincing internally at the hit my undernourished checking account was about to take. Still, though, I was satisfied with my purchase, and left the store with the feeling that, for the moment, I was on top of the situation.

That feeling died a quick death when, as I was passing a cafe, I looked in the window and caught sight of a familiar-looking fiery-headed woman at one of the tables.

My stomach lurched. _Oh, not her, not now... _On the other hand, though, I did have questions... And look, there sat answers. Whether she'd actually _give _them to me was another matter.

This was dangerous. Hell, this was _stupid. _But I didn't like the idea of her following me, I wanted to know what she'd _done _to me, and most of all, I wanted to know what her game was.

So, like the idiot that I am, I marched right into that cafe, walked up to her table, crossed my arms, and demanded, "What do you want?"

Tamiel - or rather, "Tamara" - gave me a bemused look and set down her fork. Absently, I noted with a flicker of surprise that she was eating a garden salad with chunks of what looked like chicken and - I sniffed unobtrusively - ranch dressing. I don't know what I might have expected one of the Fallen to have for lunch, but somehow, that wasn't it. "Hello, Rachel. Is there something I can do for you?"

Her casual attitude just irritated me more. "Yes. You can tell me what you're doing here."

One eyebrow arched in an elegant fashion that I doubted I could pull off to save my life. The gray business suit she was wearing probably helped with that. She looked respectable, and professional, and all kinds of things that I had trouble with, even while wearing a skirt that exposed enough of her legs that most of the men nearby kept trying to sneak peeks at them when they thought she wasn't looking. I'd seen them doing it when I came in. "I just had a meeting with a client, and am currently finishing my lunch." She caught the look on my face, and her own expression shifted to one of outright amusement. "Despite what you may think, Rachel, the world does not revolve around you. I have my own life, my own concerns, and my own career." She indicated the empty chair across from her. "If you wish to continue this conversation, please sit down and do so like a civilized woman."

Cheeks burning, I did so. "Can you blame me? What, was I supposed to think it was pure chance that out of a city of millions, I run into you for the second time in as many days, after a lifetime of not doing so?"

She smiled and speared a forkful of salad. "I've been there, Rachel," she told me. "You just didn't know it."

_That _didn't really sound in any way good, but I set it aside for the moment and pressed on. "That just proves my point. If you just wanted to keep an eye on me, I doubt I'd ever know you were there."

"I _don't _need to be there to keep an eye on you," she said. Okay, getting harder to avoid feeling paranoid and freaked out. "I don't have a problem making time for you, Rachel, but if you start believing that _every _time you see me I'm there for you, it may get you into trouble."

This was getting us nowhere, but I hesitated before changing the subject, mindful of the other cafe patrons. "You sure you want to talk about this here?"

"I could point out that you were the one to interrupt my lunch," she observed dryly. "But you needn't concern yourself. No one will overhear us."

She said it with the confidence of someone who _**knows **_that nobody will be listening in. Considering what she was, I was inclined to believe her. "I want answers."

"I'm sure." She took a sip of her water. "But you don't even know the right questions."

"Really? 'Who's the killer?', 'Why are they doing it?', 'Why do you care?', and 'Why should I listen to you?' aren't good questions?"

"Of course they are. They're just not the _right _questions." She paused and gave me a Look. "And if you weren't going to listen to me, why bother asking anything at all?"

"What did you do to me?" I didn't specify, certain she'd know what I meant.

I was right. "I gave you a little something to help you, both with your run, and with your living situation." She shook her head. "Really, Rachel. Moving in with a non-practicing vampire who has made it clear she wants you? What were you thinking?" Her eyes briefly drifted down to my neck, then back to my face. "Or did last night serve as a wake-up call?"

Struggling not to blush, I narrowed my eyes at her. "Was that dream because of you?" I asked suspiciously.

She looked confused, which I wasn't sure I believed. "What drea-" She broke off abruptly, eyes widening in surprise, and I realized I felt the slightest tingling from the mark she'd left on my arm. "Oh _ho_," she exclaimed with a grin. "Well, well. Isn't that interesting?"

"That... wasn't you?"

The smile dropped from her face. "Are you... kidding?"

"What?"

She shook her head again, disbelief evident on her face. "Wow. This goes way past denial. I know you're a white witch, but I didn't think you had anything to do with _that _White Witch."

"What do you mean?" How had the conversation become about me? We were supposed to have been discussing her.

"I mean that you're so far in the closet that you're in Narnia."

I bristled. "I am no such thing, and we are not talking about me. We're talking about you. I want you to explain yourself."

She _tsked _at me. "And why should I want to do that?"

That brought me up short. "Because... Well, b-because..." Because what? Because I said so? Yeah, that would work. "Because I don't know enough to keep myself from getting killed, and you're the one who wants me to take this run."

She smiled, and I felt that same inner warmth as last night. If I accepted that what my dream about Ivy had sparked was indeed lust, this was not it. It was more... innocent then that, for lack of a better word. Believe me, I had **no** trouble not being attracted to the Fallen angel, but there was... something. It was warm and fuzzy, and brought back that nagging sense of familiarity. "Then you need to figure out the right questions, don't you?"

I paused, then asked, "Why do you look like me?"

Her expression turned amused. "I don't actually look like anything, Rachel. I'm a spiritual entity, not a mortal being. I don't wish to sound insulting, but the simple truth is that your mind is not capable of perceiving me as I truly am. This appearance is the closest to how I would look, were I actually human."

While fascinating, that wasn't really an answer. "Which kinda looks like me?"

"Or, rather, that you look like me. But no more then every other redhead out there." She took another bite of salad. "I do have other appointments today, Rachel. I would appreciate it if you would get to the relevant issues."

Right, right. Priorities, Rachel. "What's so special about the victims? Why would someone want them killed?"

"Because of what they would have done, had they lived."

I was so startled at getting an actual answer from her that it took me a second to ask the natural follow-up question. "What was that?"

"I don't know," she replied simply, shrugging casually.

I stared.

"I'm not all-knowing, Rachel." She looked briefly upward, then back at me. "Truthfully, He is the only one who is." Her expression had turned stony, and I instinctively knew that was one subject she was _not _open to discussing. "Ultimately, it doesn't matter."

They were, according to her, killed because of something they would have done... and it didn't matter what that was? _Okay, Rachel, let's think this one through. _Tamiel's statements, I was learning, were rarely as simple as they appeared. Perhaps... it didn't matter what each one of them would have _specifically _done? "But they would have - or might have - done something to make the world a better place?" That seemed like one of the only characteristics the seven of them had in common, after all.

Her face thawed. "Indeed. And to answer your next question, yes, that is the sort of thing the forces of evil would seek to prevent."

"And you can't tell me who?"

"No."

Fantastic. "How about why? As in, why do you care?"

"My reasons are my own, and none of your concern," she replied pleasantly.

Yeah, why did I think she wasn't going to answer that one? "Why me, then? And don't just say it's because I'm the kind of woman who can't stand idle while people are killed, because there are a lot of people like that out there."

"You were already involved, though," she reminded me. "When your partners accepted their run last night, you became involved. You just wouldn't have known it, and would never have pieced things together in time to survive."

"Or whoever it was might have decided that, since we had no idea what was going on, he or she might just run the risk of attracting too much attention if they came after us," I countered. "And what right do you have to decide how I should live my life?"

The look she gave me suggested she couldn't believe I even needed to _ask _that question. "I have _every _right."

I... honestly had no idea how to take that, and said nothing.

She finished her meal and rose to her feet. "If that's all, I do need to be going." She left a healthy tip on the table - evidently she'd already paid - and headed for the door.

"And if it's not?" I asked, following her. Inwardly, I was wondering why I didn't just let her leave, considering she scared the stuffing out of me, but dammit, nothing was making sense, and she was the only one I knew of with any answers.

She shrugged. "Then call and set up an appointment." She stepped outside.

So did I... but Tamiel was nowhere in sight. "I hate it when she does that," I muttered. I spent another few seconds standing at the door uncertainly, then picked a direction and started walking. I still had some time until I had to meet Ivy, and a lot of things to work out in my head.

I felt a bit exposed out on the street, the crowds of people I was walking by both making things better and worse. I was probably safer surrounded by lots of people, but when there was no way of telling who might have been something... other then they appeared, well, it made me nervous.

I realized I'd stopped in front of a church, and after thinking about it, headed up the front steps. Maybe it wouldn't keep Tamiel out, but it was somewhere both quiet and safe to think. And, well, church was a good place to go when you were seeking answers, wasn't it? I never had before, but... Well, I'd never had a Fallen angel walk into my life before.

As far as I knew.

Ooo, there was that paranoia, again.

Fortunately, luck was with me - the door was unlocked. It hadn't occurred to me until I was opening it that there might be no one there. However, there was someone standing near the altar. "Service starts at six," he called.

"That's, um, not why I'm here. I, uh..." I had no idea where to go with that.

The priest must have picked up on my difficulties. He walked down the middle aisle between the... benches? Pews? I didn't even know the denomination of the church, let alone what terminology they might be using for things. He was of average height, middle-aged - well, he was if he was as human as I suspected, anyway - with short-cropped brown hair and warm, friendly eyes. Not all religious leaders were especially welcoming of Inderlanders - do the words "witch burning" mean anything to you? - but I got the feeling this man would never even consider turning anyone away, no matter who or what they were. "What seems to be the problem, then?"

How to phrase this... "I'm having... Well, I guess you could call it a metaphysical crisis," I began. "There's this..." No, that wasn't right. "I'm a runner, Father, um..."

"Patrick. Patrick Donnelly. And who would you be?"

"Rachel Morgan." I shook his offered hand, the sheer normality of it helping settle my nerves a little. "I was recently approached by... Well, I'll get to her later. She had a case for me." I hesitated, then decided to play a hunch.

Hey, I never said I was going to do _everything _Ivy's way.

"Tell me, Father," I began slowly. "If I were to tell you about a woman who met a mysterious man, was swept off her feet by him, then slept with him, only for him to vanish long before she discovered she was pregnant, would that mean anything to you?"

To my surprise, comprehension dawned on his face. "Would this woman be a good and kind person, who would then raise the child to do good things?"

Holy crap. I sat down on one of the... Screw it, I was calling it a pew. "I can't speak for the mothers, but yes, the children all seem to be good people. Why? What does that make them?"

He sat as well, giving me a serious look. "From your description, I'd say the child in question would be a nephilim."

"A neph-i-what?"

He smiled briefly. "A nephilim. A child fathered by an angel and born of a human mother."

My jaw dropped open. "But... I thought angels weren't physical entities," I protested weakly. Was I actually having this conversation? When had my life gone crazy?

He looked at me appraisingly. "They are as the Lord wills them to be." I must have reacted, because he chuckled quietly. "A bit too orthodox for you?"

"Well, I am a pretty unorthodox girl," I replied, managing a faint smile.

He returned it tenfold. "More simply put, a nephilim is a child born of a human mother and an angel father. They each have a special purpose, a task that has to be completed in order for the nephilim to complete his or her destiny. Sometimes it's something large, other times it's very small, but in the grand scheme of things, it's always important. When they eventually figure out what that task is, they will do everything in their power to carry it out. It's their very reason for being."

_"What's so special about the victims? Why would someone want them killed?"_

"Because of what they would have done, had they lived."

Thoughts began cascading through my head, each one both explaining things and leaving me more confused then ever. "That's... a lot to believe," I managed. "I mean, I only _really _started believing in angels last night."

"Well, it stands to reason that if you have demons, you have angels, as well."

Part of me wondered if he'd noticed my demon scar, knew what it meant. If he did, it didn't seem to bother him overly much. "So, if there are bad angels, does that mean there are good demons?" I muttered absently, thinking aloud.

For the first time in the conversation, he looked momentarily flummoxed. "Well... I suppose it's theoretically possible. Though I would hold off on searching for any, if I were you."

I gave him a tired smile. "Oh, believe me, Father, if I never see another demon again, it'll be far too soon. Having one sent to kill you kind of turns you off the demon species in general."

I'd surprised him with that, I could tell. "I can imagine. Now, what is this crisis you seem to be having?"

Right, the entire point of the conversation. _Focus, _Rachel. "Well, it involves these... nephilim you mentioned. Seven of them, actually." I paused. "Are they all that common?"

He pursed his lips, thinking. "They're not common, precisely, but they're not rare, either, as far as I know. In a city this size, I'd expect to find a lot more then seven."

"I was afraid you were going to say something like that." I wanted to ask him _how _he knew that, but I wasn't sure I really wanted to know. Maybe it was something all priests knew. Witches had certain standards to meet before they were officially licensed, certain things they had to know. Maybe the same held true for men and women of the cloth. That could wait.

"I take it these seven have something in common besides being nephilim?" he prompted.

"They're all dead."

He started. "That's... Seven?"

I nodded. "In the span of one week. And from your reaction, I'm guessing the forces of evil aren't allowed to just go around whacking nephilim all willy-nilly."

"No, they're not. The nephilim wouldn't stand a chance. But they've spent eons perfecting the dark arts of persuasion, lying, and tempting."

Which meant that I couldn't really trust anything Tamiel had told me... yet the priest was unknowingly backing it all up. I needed to know more about her, too. "And... the Fallen?"

All traces of humor vanished from his face. "They're better at it then anyone."

Ice began forming in my stomach. "What can you tell me about..." I looked around nervously. Lowering my voice for no good reason, I continued, "About Tamiel?"

He sat back. "You believe she is involved in this matter?"

"I'm certain of it."

"That's surprising. Everything we know of Tamiel indicates that she doesn't follow Lucifer's lead." He looked thoughtful.

I probably looked freaked out, so I made an effort to school my features. Still, this was getting just a little too heavy for me. "A rebel angel among rebel angels?"

"Something like that. Though that hardly places her on the side of Good."

I hadn't really thought it would. I'm just not that lucky. "She was once, though? On hell's payroll, I mean?"

He nodded. "We believe so, though reliable accounts are, naturally, hard to come by. Before the Fall, she was an angel of justice. The name 'Tamiel' translates approximately as 'perfection of God'." I guess he wasn't entirely as calm about the conversation as he was trying to appear, as those sentences didn't seem to have much to do with each other. Maybe it was petty, but not being the only one a little freaked out made me feel a little better.

"She was aptly named, then," I decided. You only needed to look at her to see that.

Father Patrick eyed me. "How do you know she's involved in this?"

I smiled mirthlessly. "She's the one who hired me. Or, rather, decided I was going to be looking into matters and refused to take no for an answer. I've been trying to figure out why."

He was silent for a long moment as he contemplated that. "It is possible that she merely seeks to work against whoever is ultimately behind matters, with no real regard to the nephilim who have been killed. I would imagine her position would be tenuous, not following Lucifer yet not openly defying him. If another of the Fallen were to rise to prominence, particularly one who already resented her, it could cause her real problems."

_"My reasons are my own, and none of your concern." _

I felt almost weak with relief. It was amazing how much attributing a real, concrete reason for Tamiel's involvement helped. Not that I'd ever believed she was acting out of the goodness of her heart, but this was a motive I could get behind. It also gave me hope that once I'd solved the case, she'd _go away. _Although...

I sighed quietly. My inner pessimist kept insisting on spoiling my happy moments. "Should we be talking about her so freely? I mean... She might not like it."

He patted my hand comfortingly. "Don't worry, not even the Fallen can trespass on holy ground."

I stared at him. "Um, yes, she can. I've seen her do it."

"What are you talking about?" Great, if he was as confused as I was, who was going to explain things?

Okay, Rachel, one step at a time. "Okay... You know the old church at 1597 Oakstaff, in the Hollows?"

A flicker of amusement passed over his features. "Indeed, I do. I used to hold services there, before the congregation could no longer afford it."

I blinked. "Small world," I muttered. Though, really, the former priest had to have gone _somewhere_, and there weren't all _that _many churches in Cincinnati, at least not of the same denomination. And this was one of the closest ones, wasn't it? "My partners and I live there, now. Actually, we run our agency from there, too." I paused. "If the clothes we found are yours, you can have them back, if you want them." A longer pause. "The books, though... Well, I kind of need them. Though if you know who they originally belonged to..." I knew it wasn't him - this close, I couldn't mistake his scent as anything other then human - but I felt like I should at least check with the former owner, make sure he was really okay with it. And maybe see if he could tell me anything about some of them, especially those with nothing written on the cover and spells and curses inside that made me nervous.

He shook his head. "Any clothing that may have been left behind, you're more then welcome to. There were no books, though."

I stared at him oddly. "Um, y-yes, there were. Ivy said the last priest there was a witch. If it was after you left, I suppose you might not know him. I wish you did, though - I really would love to thank him for planting that garden. It's been, well, a godsend, I guess you could say."

He frowned, and that ice settled back into my stomach. "Rachel, I _was _the last minister to preach at that church. If there was ever a witch serving as priest, he never admitted to what he was, and there were never any spell books there, nor a garden."

I sat there, stunned into immobility. But... Ivy had said... _Are you really so surprised, Rachel? **Really?** _the voice of my self- doubt asked snidely. _You know she's hunting you. She has been all along. You know how patient she is. A place to stay when you most needed it, spell books, pots, a witch's dream garden... Did you need a flashing neon sign that said "TRAP!" in order to get it? Did you ever **really** believe that she could find a place so perfect for you, so likely to make you stay, on such short notice? That she would quit the I.S. for no evident reason, just to join up with **you**? Why would she? She's Ivy Tamwood. And who are you? _

"Rachel, what's wrong?" Father Patrick's voice broke into my thoughts, thankfully bringing me back to reality. "You're crying. What did I say that upset you, so?"

I was? I reached up and touched my face, honestly surprised to find tears there. Yes, I'd suspected Ivy might have had ulterior motives in moving in with me, but I simply hadn't been prepared for how much it would _hurt _to find out I'd been right. "It's nothing. I'm fine," I said automatically, wiping my face with the back of my hands. "And the point is, when Tamiel came to hire me, she came _right into the church. _She even did **this** to me there!" I exclaimed, pushing up my sleeve to show him the mark she'd left. "Is that because she _doesn't _work for you-know-who?"

He looked disturbed, which wasn't good - but also distracted from my reaction to his previous statement, which was. I wasn't ready to deal with that, yet. "Are you saying she did this without your consent? Did you invite her in?"

"Yes! And... I think so, maybe. In that order." I frowned. "If she's invited in, holy ground won't stop her? Does that apply to the others, too?" Because that... That was just too damned scary for words.

"No, it doesn't. I can't see why it would for her, either. Her status grants her no special privileges. The only way she could get to you on holy ground would be if she had some prior claim over you."

The ice in my stomach abruptly grew spikes as seemingly random phrases came together to paint a disturbing picture.

_"I've been there, Rachel," she told me. "You just didn't know it."_

"I have **every **right."

"Though I believe there is much from that time of your life that you don't remember. Your friends from camp, for one." 

"...no..." I whispered. That... That just couldn't be right. I had to be wrong, **HAD** to be.

And yet...

Somehow, I knew I wasn't.

_God... _I didn't want to deal with the pain of Ivy's betrayal, but I simply had no idea _how _to deal with this. I shot to my feet. "I... I-I need to go," I stammered.

Father Patrick stood with me. "Rachel, are you going to be all right?" Smart man, he didn't bother asking if I was okay right then. Obviously, the answer was 'no'.

I tried to be equally courteous. "I don't know. But there's something that... I just... I need to **know**." Still, it took me some time to get moving.

"Would you mind letting me know where I can reach you, so I can check up on you later?" I'm sure later on I'd appreciate his not trying to make me stay and talk about what was wrong, but just then I couldn't focus on anything but the horrible idea my subconscious had coughed up.

I absently listed off our phone number, then left the church, heading back toward where I'd be meeting Ivy later. 

* * *

By the time Ivy pulled up in front of me, I'd worked my way to a numb state. It was just as well, since I'm not sure I could have gotten on the bike with her, otherwise. Before, I'd trusted her not to let anything happen to me. Now...

Now, I wasn't sure if I even cared.

"We need to stop by my mother's place, first," I told her. "There's something there I need."

She gave me a curious look over her shoulder. "What's that?"

"You'll see," I replied flatly. She looked at my face searchingly, but for once I was even more closed off then she could get at times. Visibly uneasy, she nonetheless followed my directions.

When we arrived, I just sat there for a long moment, staring at the house. I barely even noticed the shopping bag still clutched tightly in my hand.

"Ah, Rachel? Are we going inside?" Ivy prompted. It was obvious that she didn't know how to react to my atypical behavior, but I couldn't summon up the energy to care.

"Yes," I replied after several more seconds, trying to shake myself out of my stupor. Where would I find what I needed, I wondered as I walked up to the front door.

_The attic. _That was where everything she didn't want to face ended up, wasn't it?

Fitting, I suppose, that I was going there, too.

I didn't bother knocking, just unlocked the door and went inside, an increasingly bewildered Ivy following me. Mom heard me and emerged from the kitchen just as I was about to head upstairs. "Rachel? What are you doing here?" She was wearing one of those frumpy dresses that made her seem much older then she actually was, but she seemed focused and coherent enough. Evidently we'd shown up on a good day.

Well, I was about to fix that.

The ice had spread out from my stomach to my veins, until my entire body felt numb. Hell, I was almost surprised I couldn't see my breath fogging in front of my face. "I need to get something from the attic," I replied tonelessly. "Ivy, this is my mother, Alice Morgan. Mom, Ivy Tamwood, one of my partners. If you'll both excuse me, I'll be right back." I headed up the stairs without waiting for a reply.

The attic was fairly cluttered, but I managed to find what I was looking for fairly quickly: an old photo album. I flipped through it, slowing when I got to photos that had me at camp, finally thawing as my anger reignited and began to burn. Finally, I found what I'd been looking for - and dreading.

I closed the album and descended the ladder back into the house proper, then headed back downstairs. Mom and Ivy had moved into the living room, though conversation seemed understandably awkward and stilted. Even that stopped once I walked into the room. Probably they'd been talking about me, but for once I couldn't have cared less. "Rachel, what is this all about?" my mother finally demanded.

"Do you really want to know?" I barely even recognized my own voice, it sounded so frigid. Hard.

Furious.

She jerked, taken aback, and Ivy moved from confused to alarmed. "Rachel, what's-"

"I had Rosewood syndrome when I was a child. Did I ever tell you that?" I asked her.

It was Ivy's turn to be surprised. "No, you didn't. I thought that was..."

"Fatal?" I finished for her, walking closer. "In most cases, yes, it is. I spent the first fifteen years of my life in and out of hospitals. Mostly in. Summers, when I was strong enough, I was at this Camp Make-A-Wish sort of place."

"God, Rachel..." In any other situation, I might have enjoyed seeing Ivy uncharacteristically lost for words.

"See, I _should _be dead right now," I continued, struggling to remain calm. It wasn't working, but at least my anger was rising in a much more even fashion. "You must have some idea what the survival rate for Rosewood is. I could never figure out why I lived when so many others died." I opened the photo album and held it out, showing her what I'd found. "Not until now." Ivy inhaled sharply, shocked, and I didn't blame her one bit.

There, in one of the pictures from camp, was me from when I was seven or eight, smiling happily at the camera from my position nestled snugly on the lap of a woman sitting on a log, wearing a now-familiar look of tolerant amusement. There were probably plenty of pictures like that, but none of them would have bothered me like this.

Because the woman was Tamiel.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Morgan Sanction (5/?)

Legal-Type Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own The Hollows. (Are you surprised by this?) I do own the OCs, though.

Author's Note: This is going to be even more AU then my other Hollows story, picking up shortly after the events of Dead Witch Walking. Also? The muse is evil. You are warned.

Did I mention it was an AU?

The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. - Albert Einstein 

* * *

Have you ever had one of those days?

You know, when nothing seems to be going quite the way you want it to? Where things just pile up on top of each other? Where you get hit with earth-shaking revelation after earth-shaking revelation, until you barely know which way is up? Where you find out your supposed best friend was hunting you all along, and that you may well owe your life to the forces of darkness?

No? Just me, then?

That would figure.

So, yeah. There we were. Me, nearly shaking with rage as I held up a photo album displaying a picture of Tamiel and my seven-year-old self; Ivy, staring at it, shock and uncertainty painted across her features; and Mom, looking caught somewhere between guilt and fear.

It was the guilt that pushed me over the edge.

"Perhaps you could explain it to me," I said to her harshly. "Because I would very, _very _much like an explanation aside from the obvious." Because if it was that...

Well, I didn't know what would happen then, only that it would most likely be loud, and messy, and not something that could be taken back.

"It's not what you're thinking," Mom began, at which point I interrupted, unable to let that pass.

"_You have no idea what I'm thinking!_" I just barely managed not to shout it. "_I'm _not even sure what I'm thinking! All I've got are a few facts, and they are _not _painting a favorable picture."

"Perhaps if you actually let her speak," Ivy interjected hesitantly, only to flinch when I wheeled on her, too.

"Oh, don't _you _start! We'll get to _you _soon enough, don't worry."

I barely paid her look of confusion any mind - doubtlessly, she was wondering what _she'd _done, but I could only deal with one betrayl at a time - as my gaze swung back to my mother. "You made some kind of deal with her," I accused. There was no actual law against such a thing - which was good, because I honestly have no idea what I would have done if there had been - but that didn't make it in any way good.

"Rachel, you were dying!" she burst out. It was the tears in her eyes that made me pause long enough for her to continue. "You don't know what it's like, watching your little girl suffer and fade away, inch by inch, day by day, right in front of your eyes... powerless to do anything to stop it. I pray to God you never do. We would have done _anything _to save you."

"...we?" My already unstable worldview took another sharp hit. Dad? _Dad _had been in on this, too?

"Well, of course," a new voice said from behind me. Mom and Ivy started, almost in unison. I didn't even blink, partly because I'd been knocked back into my numb state, and partly because, frankly, I'd kind of been expecting her to pop up at some point during this conversation. "She couldn't have done it on her own, even if she'd wanted to. You really think your average witch would know how to get a hold of one of us?"

I turned to look, and sure enough, there was Tamiel, standing in the doorway, looking perfectly at ease with her surroundings. She was still dressed in her business attire, with a brown leather briefcase in one hand. Ivy was looking at her with the same intense wariness that I probably should have been, but just couldn't summon up. Mom's expression, though, was a mixture of fear and faint loathing. It made me wonder just what she'd promised Tamiel in exchange for her favor - or what they had, rather. "But someone in I.S. could find out easily enough, couldn't he?" I replied, feeling sick.

She shrugged absently, looking around with faint interest. _Looking to see what had changed since she'd last been there, _I realized. Hell, if she'd been there at camp with me, why not have visited the house? "You'd be surprised by how many in your I.S. are indebted in some fashion to one of the Fallen... Or perhaps you wouldn't."

Actually, it wouldn't surprise me at all. Really, it would explain a lot. "What are you doing here?"

"You needed me," she said, as if that should have been perfectly obvious. "I'd tell you to worry about this later, when you had time to do so, but I have a fair idea of just how useless _that _advice would be."

"How does she even know what you are?" Mom asked, visibly upset. "You're not allowed to tell her. We agreed..."

"She asked." The warmth that had been on Tamiel's face when she was looking at me vanished, leaving a blank slate that was positively chilling. "She didn't know not to. You did Rachel no favors by hiding the truth from her, Alice. But you did more then that, didn't you?" That elicited another guilty flinch.

Looking down at the photo album in my hands, it was easy to guess why. "I don't remember you at all. I barely remember anything from back then. Memory charms like that... They're extremely illegal."

"And extremely unhelpful," Tamiel added, still giving my mother occular frostbite. "I taught you a number of things, back then. Some you thought were just games, but not many. You always were a bright girl." Her expression didn't change, but I briefly felt that same fuzzy feeling, inside. I still couldn't pin down just what it was. "One of those things, as a not random example, was how to properly combat and contain a demon. If not for the oh-so-thoughtful help of Mrs. Morgan, here, you wouldn't have any demonic marks or scars at all, and I wouldn't have needed to add my own to counter them for you."

I gaped at Mom, unable to articulate my whirling feelings into any kind of coherent statement. "I couldn't pick and choose," she defended. "It doesn't work that way. It was all or nothing."

"'Nothing' doesn't seem to have done me much good," I finally managed. "Why not just burn this, then, if you were so worried about me finding anything?" I held up the album, shaking it for emphasis.

She couldn't seem to come up with an immediate answer, but Tamiel, surprisingly enough, spared her from needing to. "Oh, I haven't seen that in ages," she commented, face and voice thawing as she looked at the picture. "You were so adorable. And you've grown into a fine woman." She smiled at me, and I could swear I felt the warmth of it underneath my skin. Considering how my day had been going thusfar, however, I wasn't about to automatically believe it. "Tell me, is there anything from in there that you _do _remember?"

I frowned, flipping back to some of the earlier pages. "I'm blanking on some names, but that could just be how long it's been since I've seen any of them." I felt a touch of shame about that, and made a mental note to try and track some of them down, later. If any of them were still alive. My anger at Mom had cooled somewhat - I wondered if that had been Tamiel's intention, or just a byproduct of whatever she was really there for - but hadn't vanished. "How many of them did you make me forget?" I snapped at her.

"Rachel, you don't understand. It was for your own good!"

"Ignorance of a bargain does not excuse one's obligations," Tamiel interjected, suddenly every bit the professional lawyer. It was a little jarring. "As I said, Alice, you've done her no favors."

I frowned at her suspiciously. "What bargain?"

"Shortly. Keep going."

My frown deepened. What was so important that- I froze, blinked, and looked more carefully at one of the pictures displayed. It showed me, Dad, and another man with a boy whom I presumed was his son. "Son of a- Is that _Trent_?"

"What?" Ivy, who had up until this point stayed silent as she watched the developing situation with wide eyes - maybe she just wasn't used to dealing with a screwed-up situation like this in a family whose last name wasn't Tamwood - now came forward to peer down at the album. She was already tense, but when Tamiel drifted closer, she somehow became more so.

The Fallen angel seemed somewhat amused by her reaction. "Not quite. _This _is Trent," she said, tapping the boy with one elegantly manicured fingernail. (Remembering our earlier conversation, I wondered if she actually went out to get a manicure, or just willed them to _look _that way.) "That's his father."

"Our fathers knew each other?" After a pause, I blurted, "_We _knew each other?"

"Oh, yes. I believe you blasted him into a tree, once," she said with a smile. "A bit extreme, perhaps, but not entirely undeserved."

I blinked at her. She sounded so... _pleasant _as she spoke, as if blasting a young boy into a tree was an amusing childhood prank. I probably shouldn't have been surprised by that, but... Well, in my defense, so many revelations, all one on top of another, had stunned me to the point where my brain was lagging a bit. And Trent was obviously fine, so I suppose it couldn't have been _that _bad. "He remembers me from back then?"

"I would presume so, yes."

"Does he remember _you_?"

She shrugged. "He may well. He would only have known me as Tamara Jordan, though. As far as anyone else at camp was concerned, I was only there to keep an eye on you." She smiled brillantly, adding, "As any good godmother would."

"You're..." I couldn't even finish, choking on the rest of the sentence.

"It did seem the easiest, least complicated way of explaining our relationship." I had no idea if that was a yes or no, but got the idea that 'godmother' was all she'd told the staff at the camp. "And since I know you're going to ask, no, I wasn't there all the time - in person, anyway - nor was I a counciller. And no, I didn't bother making bargains with any of the other families."

"Why not?" Aware of how that sounded, I added, "What stopped you?"

She simply stood there for a long moment, smiling at me, before finally replying, "You don't get _everything _for free, Rachel."

Well, _that _woke me up just fine. Guess I had some adrenaline left, after all. "There are things I still need to know."

"That's more true then you know. But 'want' should not be confused with 'need'."

I stifled a sigh. Why did I keep expecting her to tell me everything? I _knew _better, but something inside me kept genuinely believing that she would. "What did they trade you for my life?" I asked. A stray thought hit me, and I added, "And if you were around that long, why did it take so long to cure me?"

"The first part isn't important. And they believed - rightly so - that if you were to suddenly be cured overnight, it would raise too many red flags. They might have been jailed - or worse - for black magic, and you would have been turned into an experiment, possibly to the point of dissecting you to find out how they'd done it."

"Making a bargain with one of the Fallen isn't illegal," I countered. "They wouldn't have been arrested for that. And it is **not** unimportant!"

She sighed. "I didn't say 'arrested', I said 'jailed'. And while your suffering was unfortunate, you don't seem to understand the implications of that picture you were looking at."

I didn't see the distinction, but pushing her never seemed to get me anywhere. And what about the picture? That my and Trent's fathers had known each other was interesting, but what did that have to do with anything? "Yeah, well, this is turning into a really long day, and it isn't even half over, yet. Explain it to me."

She looked sympathetic, though I wasn't sure how far to trust that. I wanted to, which was one of the reasons I made myself doubt it. I couldn't afford to blindly trust her - or anyone, it seemed. "You know about Trent's, shall we say, side business. You also know how many children are diagnosed with Rosewood every year, and how few survive. By curing you as slowly as I did, it allowed his father to study the changes, and reverse-engineer a treatment protocol. It isn't a sure thing, but because of you, children all over the world have a chance to live full, complete lives. Not that any of the families can actually explain _why _that is, given the current laws. But there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of children alive today because of you. That was why you agreed to it in the first place."

**That** threw me. "_**I **_agreed? I _knew _about this?"

Her expression turned almost pitying, which made my stomach clench. "Yes. Which is why I told you that it didn't matter your parents had agreed to. Because once you found out about it, you _demanded _that you be allowed to take their place in the bargain."

I stared at her in stupefied silence.

"You said that it was your life at stake, not theirs, so you were the only one who had any right to make that kind of decision. You couldn't stand to see anything happen to them because of you." She smiled sadly. "You were never afraid of me back then. I regret that that's changed."

I became aware that at some point while she'd been speaking, my legs had collapsed underneath me, and I'd dropped down to sit on the couch. I hadn't even noticed that I'd walked over to it. Hell, I'd completely forgotten that I had the bag containing my purchases from earlier still hanging from my wrist. Despite everything, I was glad that Ivy was there to watch my back until I pulled myself together.

Things were finally making sense. While she might have been able to get to me wherever I was if she'd made a bargain with my parents, if I'd made the bargain with Tamiel myself, there was no question about it.

And that was what Mom had most wanted me to forget. That _I'd _made a deal with one of the Fallen on _their _behalf. Evidently, I'd been stupidly self-sacrificial from an early age. And if Tamiel couldn't openly approach me as herself, couldn't even tell me what she was until I asked...

I understood her actions, might even be able to forgive them in time, but Tamiel had been right about one thing: Mom really hadn't done me any favors, in the long run.

"And now that that's all sorted, perhaps you should get back to the business at hand." Tamiel closed the photo album and placed it on my lap. When had she moved over to stand next to me? "You have a somewhat better idea of what you're dealing with on this particular case, but - and this is through no fault of your own - you're not equipped to deal with it."

That was probably true. I'd never gotten what one would call a proper education, in terms of magic. (Not that I remembered, anyway.) Considering everything else that had been called into question, if not outright revealed to be a lie, I had to wonder if there was some other reason Dad hadn't wanted me tapping any ley lines. Just then, it didn't really matter. "Yeah, well, I've had about all the revelations I can stand for today. So, if you don't mind...?"

She nodded gracefully. "Of course. Keep in mind, though, that things are rarely as simple as they seem." Which could have been refering to Mom's lying, her own part in matters, Ivy's deception, or anything inbetween. Maybe even all of them. It didn't matter, really. It wasn't bad advice, and I wasn't about to do the opposite just because I didn't like the source.

Of course, this _is _me we're talking about, here. I don't like admitting it, but I do have a nasty habit of speaking - and acting - without really thinking things through. I was going to be trying my best to avoid doing so during this run - considering the players already involved, and whoever (or whatever) might still be lurking in the shadows, my regular impulsive behavior would get me worse than killed, very quickly - but...

Well.

For better or worse, I'm me. And some habits can't just be switched off like a light switch.

"If you need me, just call," she said, then turned and vanished.

By that point, her abrupt exit didn't even phase me. It was _that _kind of day.

It did, however, leave me sitting on my mother's couch, surrounded by memories of past events that had suddenly become tainted. I didn't like it, and part of me resented Tamiel for bringing things to light, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Nothing but leave, which was sounding better by the second. "Come on," I said quietly to Ivy. "We have work to do."

"What are you-?"

"Not now," I almost growled at Mom. "I can't... We'll talk later. I just... I can't. I just can't. Not yet." She winced, but nodded. I didn't say another word as I got up, wavered for a second as I got my balance, then headed for the door.

Ivy... I had no idea what I felt in regards to her, just then. I did, however, appreciate that she didn't try starting a conversation on the ride back to the church. I barely even noticed her driving, and for once, being on a motorcycle didn't bother me in the slightest.

Like I said.

_That _kind of day.


End file.
